


This is the smutfic

by Polyhexian



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fingering, I don't even know what to call the second one, M/M, POV Third Person, PWP, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, weird bird sex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22187782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian
Summary: Y'all know the drill. There's weenies in this one.
Relationships: Cyclonus/Tailgate/Whirl (Transformers), Cyclonus/Whirl (Transformers), Tailgate/Whirl
Comments: 3
Kudos: 69





	1. Tailgate/Whirl in: oh my god why did you do that

Tailgate arched his spinal strut, digging his heels into Whirl’s back as he clung to his helm, mashing his faceplate between Whirl’s face prongs, panting and whining, desperately seeking more friction as he shoved his array more forcefully into the blunt flat end of one claw that was rubbing his anterior node with a force he rarely convinced Cyclonus to exert. The desk under him was cold metal that was a sharp contrast to his own overheated frame, dumping heat into other bent over him, knelt on the floor and buried in him, both fans blasting in the quiet room. 

“‘Nside,” Tailgate mumbled between static electricity kisses, and Whirl processed the sound slowly, before he pulled his head back, squinting his optic at him despite the whine he got.

“What?” He asked.

“I said ‘Inside,” Tailgate clarified, tugging back on his neck to return to making out, “I want you to finger me.”

“I don’t have any fingers,” Whirl pointed out, and Tailgate made an extremely unhappy noise when he pulled his claw up and away from Tailgate’s array to show him. 

“That’s semantics,” Tailgate said, hooking one leg over Whirl’s claw and yanking it back down between his legs, “It’ll fit.”

“Hrrm,” Whirl hummed, tilting his head at him dubiously, before shaking off Tailgate’s leg, raising the claw high in the air and smashing the inside corner against the desk so hard the table shook and Tailgate yelped, tightening his legs around Whirl’s neck to the point an organic probably would have been strangled.

“What was that?!” he exclaimed, and Whirl picked his claw back up, showing the inside corner had been flattened.

“‘S sharp,” he explained, moving back to handle Tailgate’s valve as he rutted into the touch, frustrated by the terrible seconds of neglect he’d just been subject to. Whirl let Tailgate yank his helm back down, burying his faceplate between his prongs and shutting off his visor, making a delightedly high pitched noise as the tip of Whirl’s claw pushed the swollen lips of his weeping valve apart. He tensed his hips, squeezing his thighs to get more friction as Whirl drew back, before pushing in the oblong shape in further, and Tailgate let out a satisfied puff of steam as the wider head of the claw entered, pushing everything inside him at unusual, fresh new angles he wasn’t familiar with, but definitely aimed to be. 

It didn’t take an especially large amount of rutting and fisting before Tailgate jerked and came with a strangled wail, yanking Whirl’s helm down into his chest as he curled from his helm to his toepedes into the electric feeling as it shot through him.

Whirl pulled his claw away as Tailgate made a sad little noise and Whirl bumped him with his helm again. “Come on, get down here, it’s my turn, you little demon.”


	2. Whirl/Cyclonus in: how the FRAG did you talk me into this

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” said Cyclonus, standing across from Whirl on the helipad. 

“Don’t act like you don’t think it’s super hot,” Whirl scoffed, folding his arms, “Cuz I can go back inside if you’ve changed your mind.”

“I didn’t say that,” Cyclonus snorted, “You’ve convinced me, somehow.”

“That’s what I thought,” Whirl snorted, flipping up and transforming, “Now kick it into gear, huh?” With that, he peeled out over the water. Cyclonus shook his head, psyching himself up, then followed suit, sending water spraying onto the dark evening shore as he shot over the rippling waves.

He revved up, his alt mode capable of significantly faster speeds than a VTOL helicopter, diving in to force the copter upward, weaving in and out as they gained speed, far enough out the shoreline was starting to seem distant, when Whirl apparently decided they’d gone far enough and suddenly flipped his rotors down, shooting upward with another impressive spray of mithril ocean splatter. Cyclonus chased him up, spinning in a braided twirl of loops and updrafts as they climbed up closer to the atmosphere.

Whirl transformed in midair, still propelled upward by the continuous forward momentum for a moment as Cyclonus joined him in returning to his rootmode, and Whirl clamped onto him before the wind could yank them apart as they started to descend.

“Hell yeah!” Whirl howled, mashing their faces together messily. He spun upside down, wind roaring past his audials, and that was the last sound he could make he was certain would be heard. Cyclonus grabbed Whirl’s thighs and yanked them around him,  _ biting _ down on one of Whirl’s head prongs. Whirl shivered, crossing his legs behind Cyclonus’s back as he twisted his cockpit to the side and out of the way, snapping open his array panel at the same time.

Cyclonus followed suit, wordless, gripping Whirl around the hips and lined himself up with Whirl’s valve, trying to focus on the task at hand when they were hurtling toward the sea and quickly approaching terminal velocity. Whirl, impatient, slammed his hips forward despite the resistance of an unprepared valve, keening loudly.

Cyclonus swore, but the wind tore the words away, and he pulled back out, thrusting in with the force of someone distinctly aware he was in freefall. Whirl’s claws gripped his shoulders tightly enough to crush plating, tearing swathes of paint into the dents, legs shaking and tightening as he approached climax. 

Whirl came like he always did, gasping, frantic, his grip destroying anything he dared to hold, every facet of his frame tightening and releasing at once, and Cyclonus thrust him through it, a  _ breath _ from finishing himself, when he realized, suddenly, how close they were to the ocean.

“Whirl!” He said, snapping him to attention, “Disengage!”

“Huh?” Whirl said, just as Cyclonus disentangled himself and spun away, transforming just in time to forcefully slow his descent. Whirl was a little slower to catch on and spun his fans down, but he was only half transformed when he hit the ocean.

“Whirl!” Cyclonus called, panting, as he hovered above the surface, concerned. After another moment, he was about to transform and dive after him when Whirl remerged, pouring mithril out of his helm.

“That was pretty hot!” Whirl yelled, “Did you finish?”

“What? No! Are you alright?” Cyclonus yelled back as Whirl shook himself off, fighting to get his rotors high enough above the surface to transform and take off.

“Broke my landing gear, but who cares. Come on, let’s go again!” He said, finally managing to catch the air and shoot upward, unevenly at first, before he righted himself.

“You’re mad,” Cyclonus responded, but sped after him when Whirl started to climb again.


End file.
